A Study in Moments
by SherlockWhovian
Summary: A bunch of drabbles that capture many small moments in the lives of Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Moriarty, Anderson, and many other characters. Can range from crack to slash to kid!lock to anything imaginable. There will be some Johnlock as well. Basically scenes that are not captured in the TV series. Enjoy! Originally called Many Small Moments.
1. Domestic

**A Little Domestic**

They had nothing to say to each other. Sherlock and John were having another domestic. It was childish really, but everyone knows how stubborn Sherlock is.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, while John was sitting in his usual chair, drinking tea. Neither one would look at each other. As the silence continued, the tension between the two grew and grew, till finally John spoke up.

"Is it really that difficult to take one second out of your day to put the cap back on the tooth paste bottle?" John placed down his tea, just in case he got the urge to through the cup at his flat mate.

"As a matter of fact, yes; yes it is," Sherlock said, arrogantly.

"Can you please explain to me why that is because I obviously do not understand!"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, like he always does when he thinks the person is an idiot for not understanding right away. "It is quite simple, John. I woke up this morning and brushed my teeth as quick as possible, so I could go check one of my experiments. If I was a second later, the liver would have dissolved almost completely, which would have destroyed the whole purpose of the experiment."

John rubbed his hand over his face. "I would think that if the experiment was so important to you, that you wouldn't even think to brush your teeth."

"Well obviously, you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Oh you really think so? Fine then… it's not like I have been living with you for the past two years or anything."

"John, my brother doesn't even know me that well, and he has known me my whole life. And why does it matter anyway? It's just tooth paste."

"Because, Sherlock, I do not like it when the tooth paste gets all crusty because it has been left open, when you could have taken the time to at least place it on the opening of the bottle."

"Then, why don't you go and buy your own, instead of sharing mine?"

John was starting to get really irritated with Sherlock. "I bought the tooth paste with my money, so technically it is mine," John said, glaring at Sherlock. "So, why don't you go and get your own, so I don't have to share mine with you?"

Sherlock returned the icy glare that John was giving him. "Because, I am busy with more important things."

"You have been lying on that couch for the past two hours. What could possibly be so important?"

"Something, John, that your boring, little brain wouldn't understand."

John let out a frustrated grunt. _Why does Sherlock have to be so damn impossible all the time? You know what? I am not even going to deal with him right now. _ He thought as he quickly got up, grabbed his jacket, and made his way towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, confused by John's sudden movement.

"Out." John left it at that and stormed out the door, leaving Sherlock alone in the flat wondering what he said wrong.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! I wanted to capture a domestic between Sherlock and John that was completely ridiculous. Please tell me any mistakes I made and what you thought about the short drabble. Thank you!**


	2. The Date

**Another Date Ruined**

Her laugh broke the silence, like a dart hitting a glass mirror, shattering it in the process. John quickly looked up from his plate, startled by the piercing sound of her voice.

John cleared his throat, praying to God that nobody noticed his date's outburst. But, of course everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the two of them, like they were an annoyance to society. He put his face in his hands and hoped that everyone would stop staring and go back to eating and socializing.

After a few moments, John finally lifted his head. He coughed and put on a fake smile. "Um, what's so funny, Joanne?"

"You are, silly!" Joanne said, still slightly giggling.

"But, I didn't say anything…" Before John could finish his sentence, Joanne burst out laughing again.

"Okay, um, I think that is enough wine for you tonight. I should probably get you back home," John said, waving down a waiter for the bill.

"Aw… but I don't want to go home yet! I'm having way too much fun!" She sounded like a five year old that was having a fit about not wanting to go to bed.

John panicked; he didn't want to be rude by telling her she had to go home, so he quickly thought up an excuse. "I'm sorry but it's late and Sherlock is probab-"

Joanne suddenly got really quiet. "Sherlock? Who's Sherlock?"

_Oh shit… did I really just say that? _"Oh he's no one… never mind; don't pay attention to anything I just said."

Joanne crossed her lean arms and raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm really curious. Who is this Sherlock person?" Her presence and demanding voice displayed that she was not backing down on finding out about the said man.

"He is a friend that I-"

"What? He is a friend that you share the night with? I guess that explains why you are so anxious to have me leave. I knew this was too good to be true." She stood up and grabbed her purse and jacket.

"Joanne, let me explain." John was really desperate now. He hated when women got angry at him over something meaningless.

"No, I understand, and it is totally fine! I am sorry that I am wasting your time, when you could be at home having a special night with your _'friend'_. Bye, John."

She walked away from the table, leaving nothing but the slight smell of her cheap perfume.

John yelled out to her. "Joanne, I am not gay!"

Everyone in the restaurant fixed their eyes on John again. He couldn't stand it anymore. He paid the bill and quickly got up from his table and left the restaurant, escaping the eyes that dared to glare a hole through him.

_Another date gone, and again, it is all Sherlock's fault._

**A/N: I hope you liked it! I would love to hear your opinions and ideas. If you have any suggestions, or if you see any errors that need to be fixed, please tell me. (:**


	3. I Love You

**I Love You, and I Always Will**

Today was January 17. Lestrade sat all alone in a deserted bar. He left to go there after a long, mortifying case that, of course, Sherlock Holmes was able to solve by looking at the man's cuff links. He always wondered how Sherlock was so observant.

He held his sixth glass of vodka in his hands, staring into the clear abyss of the unnerving liquid. It wasn't his favorite drink, but he always found himself drinking it, especially on a day like this.

"Hey man, it's time to close," The gruff owner of the bar exclaimed.

Lestrade gulped down the rest of his drink and left money on the counter. He quickly left the warmth of the bar and walked out onto the cold, London pavement. A chill crept threw his body, as the cold threatened to seep through his clothes.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the grey sidewalk. He focused his eyes on what was in front of him, trying to keep himself from his hated thoughts that threatened to creep back into his mind. The vodka helped a little with keeping his mind at ease.

As Lestrade kept walking at a slow pace, he glanced at several people he passed by. There was one couple that caught his eye. They held each other tightly in a warm embrace, staring lovingly into each other's eyes. This sight tore at Lestrade's heart.

Lestrade tried his best to keep his emotions covered deep down in his body, but bubbled as he let his guard down. He couldn't help himself from feeling the way he was. Seeing a bench, he quickly sat in it before he could fall to the ground in anguish.

"Why… why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been me?" Lestrade whispered hoarsely under his breath. He hated himself.

The salty tears rolled down his cheeks, as he sat in the cold seat, which was the only thing supporting him at the moment. _I didn't mean for it to happen. I never wanted her to get hurt. I should have been the one to fling from the car. _Lestrade thought to himself.

He lowered his head, not wanting anyone to see him sobbing like a child. He closed his bloodshot eyes, shutting out the rest of the world. Her face appeared, with a smile that was brighter than the sun. Her beauty masks all the ugliness of the world around him. Her peaceful, blue eyes blinked joyfully, causing her butterfly-like lashes to bat softly. Her long, golden hair bounced as she laughed her wonderful laugh. 'I love you, Greg, and I always will.' Her sweet voice filled his ears.

"I love you, too," Lestrade spoke softly, as if he were whispering in her ear right at this very moment.

Her image faded away into the darkness of his mind, as another image came into view. This one caused Lestrade to cringe in deep pain, as he saw her blood covered, pale face, frozen against the black pavement. Glass surrounded her frail, motionless body that was covered in gaping wounds from the impact of crashing into the road. Her white dress was soaked in blood.

Lestrade opened his eyes, to escape the painful picture that burned in his mind. His heart felt like it was being shredded to pieces. _This is my entire fault. I was the one who was driving; I should have made sure she was buckled and safe before I drove off. I should have paid more attention to the road and the other cars around me. That God damn car should not have ran that red light._ He continued to blame himself, and he will never stop blaming himself for the rest of his miserable life. She was the love of his life. They were going to have kids and grow old together. They were going to watch as their kids got older and fell in love. They were going to be each other's solid rock in situations like this, but they never planned that either one of them would be a victim in a fatal accident. They thought they were inseparable. Fate is screwed up in that kind of way.

Lestrade came back to his senses. He wiped away the tears that covered his tan face, as he stood back up. He needed to continue walking, if he wanted to get to his destination before it got too late. He fast walked all the way to the grim dimness of the church cemetery. His shaky hands grabbed onto the latch of the creaky, black gate and pushed it open. He passed by many old and new tomb stones until he reached the one next to the leafless willow tree.

Lestrade knelt down in front of the gravestone, as he brushed away the dirt that was in the crevices of the carved rock. He let his hand rest on the top of it. A weak smile shown on his face.

"Happy birthday, Mary. I love and miss you so much… and I always will."

**A/N: I hoped you liked the story. I'm sorry that it is kind of depressing, but I wanted to portray what I truly thought happened to Lestrade's wife. He may always seem like a strong person, but not everyone lets their emotions show (Sherlock for example). Review if you would like. I am always open for suggestions.**


	4. Jealousy

**Jealousy **

Sherlock couldn't help it; the way he felt when John went on dates and spent the night at his girlfriends' houses. He absolutely despises these feelings, especially when he had worked so hard, all these years, to get rid of the emotions that dared to creep up inside him. _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock_, is what his brother always told him. At times, he even believed it. But, there is something different about John. Maybe John is the exception.

Sherlock and John were sitting in an internet café in the middle of London. Sherlock typed away on his laptop, taking a break to research how long it would take to die from bleach poisoning and what were the side effects. It was pertinent for the case he was working on; the woman's alibi depended on it.

John sat opposite of Sherlock at the small metal table. He drank coffee as he silently sat, trying not to disturb Sherlock's train of thought. He did not want an annoyed Sherlock on his hands. Suddenly, John's mobile started to ring. He looked down at the number and smiled his award winning smile. As John answered the call, he got up from his chair and moved to the other to a more private area of the public space.

Sherlock glanced at John as he moved away from him with swift steps. He was curious at what was the cause of John's rare, handsome smile. This made Sherlock frown slightly; not even _he_ could make him even close to grinning like that. _Why is it that whenever I try to impress John, I always just get a 'brilliant' or a 'fantastic,' but never a rarity as John's smile, but when a girlfriend, from the looks of it, calls him, she gets that extraordinary, little gift? _Sherlock thought to himself. _Ever since I met him, I knew there was something special about him; a psychosomatic soul of a soldier with an undefined charisma. At first I just wanted to be praised for my brilliance, but something has changed. Have I fallen in some sort of love for John Hamish Watson? _

Sherlock internally slapped himself. Of course he wasn't in love; love is what normal people call their sexual attraction they feel towards each other. He wasn't sexually attracted to John. Honestly, Sherlock has never truly felt attracted to anyone in his life; he is asexual in every aspect.

But, looking at John now, the way he shifts his position as he stands, the way he looks down when he is trying to hide the happiness showing on his face, the way he brushes his hair back with his hand as he thinks, makes Sherlock question himself. Another feeling starts to creep up inside him. _Am I jealous?_

**A/N: Thank you for reading! I am sorry for not updating sooner. I have been extremely busy this summer. I truly hope you enjoyed it, though. I really appreciate your thoughts on my stories, so review if you would like. :)**


	5. The Visit

**The Visit**

Sherlock lay on the sofa in his usual thinking position. It was late at night and he was alone in the flat, since John was out on a date with another one of his girlfriends. _What was her name? Jane? Janet?_ Sherlock shook his head; it didn't matter, neither did he really care. He was happy for the silence; it helped him have more focus without having annoying interruptions.

The silence was quickly broken by the faint sound of the front door being opened and then closed didn't bother asking who it was because he suspected it was John.

_Damn it._ Sherlock thought, since his beloved silence would soon end with the arrival of his flat mate.

There was a sound of footsteps, slowly walking up the stairs. The door to the sitting room that Sherlock occupied creaked open. A person appeared in the doorframe that was, without a doubt, not John.

"Hello Sherly."

Sherlock knew that voice all too well; it belonged to none other, James Moriarty.

"Decided to stop by for a visit, I see," Sherlock spoke with a deep baritone voice, as he got up from the sofa. "I would have thought that you rather go out and wreak havoc in London streets than talk to me, but I guess I _am_ quite invigorating."

Moriarty smirked. "I was alone in my flat, since Seb left to go get some information for me. Quite fun, but you know I don't like getting my hands dirty." He walked to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace with a slight swagger and sat down. "So I decided to go and visit my favorite consulting detective."

Sherlock casually moved towards the seat that is directly across from the criminal. He took in everything about the man in one glance. _He is wearing his usual Westwood suit, but this time it is a darker grey than the last one he saw him in. His collar is unbuttoned and without a tie around it, showing that this is a casual meeting and not business. There are dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying up late in the night, thinking. His eyes are also calmer, missing the usual crazy glint it seems to normally have. _Sherlock thought to himself. He sat down and crossed his long legs.

"How have you been doing? I haven't seen you in a very long time," Moriarty asked, his Irish accent showing through each and every word he spoke.

"Oh, quite splendid actually," Sherlock replied with his usual arrogant tone, obviously bored with the conversation already.

"Good. I'm fine too if you're wondering, business has been doing _very_ well. But enough about me, more importantly, how is that pet of yours doing?"

Sherlock was caught off guard at the mention of John. Why would Moriarty want to know how is flat mate is doing. "He's doing well, I guess."

"Hm. I was hoping that he would be here, but I see that he is out at the moment, guessing by his missing coat on the coat hanger. Where has he gone to?" Moriarty asked, with quite a questioning voice.

Sherlock was worried about why he wanted to see John. It turned out bad last time when John had left the house when they were solving the bombing case caused by this very psychopath. He was kidnapped and got simtex strapped to him. Sherlock answered anyway, trying not to sound concerned about the situation. "He is out on a date."

Moriarty made a puppy dog face at Sherlock, a little bit of pity showing through his expression. "Aw, poor Sherlock is all left alone while Johnny Boy is out having fun with a woman. You must be quite jealous that your lover is with someone else and not here with you."

This statement made Sherlock freeze. How did Moriarty see through his wall that he put up to protect himself for anyone seeing his emotions? This made him feel quite uneasy, so he decided to try and hide it. "Jealous? Don't be so dull. I am perfectly happy being alone and John is not my _lover." _Sherlock enunciated the word "lover" harshly.

Moriarty chuckled, deeply and said in a sing-song voice, "Oh poor little Sherlock, in such denial. Of course you love John; I can see it in the way you look at him. He may not notice it, but I certainly do."

Sherlock felt his cheeks start to burn. He was in denial; he didn't quite know what his feelings for John were, but he knew they were strong.

"Oh now I got a reaction out of you," Moriarty said, clasping his hands together and smiling. "I can definitely tell that _you_, Sherlock Holmes, are in love! This is going to be so much fun burning your heart out when the great doctor already holds it in the palm of his hand."

Sherlock didn't like where Moriarty was going with this, but before he could reply, Moriarty already was standing up and walking towards the door.

"Goodbye, Sherlock; I will see you soon. And tell your lovely flat mate that I said hi." He left without saying another word.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the drabble. This is leading up to some Johnlock in later chapters. If you see any mistakes, please tell me; I always love to hear from my readers! (:**


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